


Stay here

by Strange_johnlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Baker Street, 221B Ficlet, Angst and Feels, COVID19, Coronavirus, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Isolation, John is a Bit Not Good, M/M, Nightmares, Pandemics, Panic Attacks, Quarantine, Sherlock is a Good Boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:40:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23146351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_johnlock/pseuds/Strange_johnlock
Summary: “Day nine.” John thought. This was the sunrise of day nine.Isolating gets too much, suddenly. But he has a shoulder to lean on.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 20
Kudos: 224
Collections: Isolated Johnlock Collection





	Stay here

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to all the lovely people on Twitter for helping me with beta reading <3

He’d thought it would be hard for Sherlock, that the detective would start shooting the walls on day three or jump out of the window after a fortnight, eyes mad with boredom. Then again, Sherlock could spend hours staring through a microscope or at the wall as he lay on the sofa lost in his mind palace. He looked calm, really unbothered, and at the beginning John had been relieved. He was looking forward to finishing the crime novel he had been reading, answering emails, and rewatching more Doctor Who than would probably be healthy.

It was good for a bit, domestic. And then, at three in the morning, John awoke to the feeling of not being able to breathe as the nightmare closed the hands around his neck with long, spidery fingers. The sound of the young nurse dying, gurgling on her own blood as she tried to speak her final words, dark eyes opened wide with panic.

“You couldn’t save her.” The nightmare whispered. “She helped so many, but you, you were useless.”

John twisted and turned as he tried to escape the tight grasp until finally he opened his eyes, ripped into a reality that was still filled with the pictures of a past he never got over.

Out. 

He needed out, the walls around him were closing in and John felt the panic making his hand tremble, the only outward sign of his panic.

Shrugging the duvet off, the weight of which seemed to have tripled, John stumbled towards the bedroom door, through the kitchen and down the stairs. He didn’t bother tying his shoes or zipping his jacket, needing the cold of the London night to remind him this wasn’t Afghanistan with its sand, hot wind, and sound of gunfire.

John stopped, his hand on the door handle, the realisation coming like a punch to the gut. He wasn’t allowed to open it, wasn’t allowed to step onto the almost completely deserted streets of the usually buzzing city.

“Breathe.” He told himself, to no avail. “Try to breathe and don’t panic.”

John laughed at this stupid attempt to calm himself but the sound that left his throat was more of a whine like a kicked dog. John stumbled back a few steps. The narrowness of the entrance way madeJohn’s claustrophobia worse to the point where he felt the need to punch the walls until he gave into or, more likely, fell unconscious from the pain.

“Out.” He said into the quiet around him. “Out, I need… out.” And he said it a hundred more times, unable to stop, as his lungs tried to get air, but failed. John knew he was going to hyperventilate, and there was nothing he could do to stop it, his body beyond being soothed by the mind it inhabited.

Sherlock slipped quietly from the dark staircase, although he could have sped like a raging bull, and John wouldn’t have heard him, eyes worried and hands reaching. He didn’t touch John. He’d learned not to. His voice, deep and calm, ripped through the noise in John’s head, fought on against John’s one worded mantra.

“John,” he simply said, grabbing at his Belstaff. “I know a way out.”

“Can’t…” John tried, the small word taking a lot of effort. But when Sherlock took his hand, John followed with stumbling steps. In those dark moments, they were becoming fewer and fewer, John knew instinctively that he could trust Sherlock Holmes to do the right thing.

They walked up two floors ending in John’s old bedroom although this was the last place John wanted to be. The memory of spending lonely nights here after the fall added to his anxiety, and just as he started to protest, Sherlock opened the window.

Cool March air filled the too small, too hot room but it was not enough. John Watson, from the time he was a kid, had always taken to the outside when he had a problem to solve. Walking, even when it had been made difficult by the cane, was how he kept sane and now being trapped, that was…

Sherlock was gone. John stared out at the darkness and then the familiar face appeared beyond the windowsill. “There is a ladder.” The detective stated, reaching out a hand. “It has five steps, fifteen inches apart. You can easily get out and climb up. I’ll be right behind you.” Stating facts, knowing it would help John.

Pulled towards Sherlock’s voice, John let himself be guided outside and up the ladder, hands still trembling while the rational side of his brain wondered if this was a horrible idea during a panic attack, in complete darkness. Still, he trusted Sherlock, and somehow his feet and hands found the metal rungs, all five of them.

On wobbly legs, still breathing heavily, John Watson stood on the roof of 221 with London unusually quiet beneath him and then Sherlock was there, pulling him down into a sitting position against his chest.

“Breathe.” Sherlock said in his ear and it wasn’t any more helpful than when John had uttered it a bit earlier. The air, open space and the moon above were though and slowly John felt himself calm, breath slowing, heart rate normalising.

It still took a while to not feel trapped, for the nightmare to pull back and take the haunting pictures with it. It was a slow process, the cool air not an instant cure but with every breath, John felt better and more himself.

All the while Sherlock talked to him. John didn’t really listen or comprehend instead concentrating on the low baritone as it rose and fell with the high and lows of the story, a case, probably.

And John felt himself melt against him more and more, eyes fixed on the night sky, slowly pinkening with the first rays of sunlight.

“Day nine.” John thought. This was the sunrise of day nine.

“Better?” Sherlock reached around him to pull John’s coat closed, the gesture so protective it made John’s heart jump a bit.

“Thank you.” He mumbled, knowing he didn’t need to answer and they stayed quiet, tangled around each other.

“I thought it would be hard for me.” Sherlock rubbed his nose against the spot behind John’s ear. “But then I deduced that Lestrade had sent you some files, just in case I got too bored to handle this…” His gesture included the entire city. “Also, you put some toes in the part of the fridge usually reserved for food, knowing I might need an experiment to keep my mind occupied.

John smiled and reached out to take Sherlock’s hand in his, placing a kiss on the centre of the large palm, then pressing his cheek against the soft skin. “Did that for really egotistical reasons, love.” He admitted, doing so with a smirk playing around his lips, which died as soon as he heard Sherlock’s answer.

“I wasn’t so considerate, John. I just assumed you would be fine.” John had to stop, had to stop Sherlock from thinking that he had not just been perfect. Turning to look at his boyfriend, John kissed those lovely, frowning lips.

“There is no one I would rather be stuck here with, Sher. Don’t get me wrong, this is shit. Utter bullshit, and I hate it. I get bored, and just know I thought I couldn’t… I couldn’t breathe and you just… you knew.”

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth ticked up, and this time he kissed back.

“Let’s just stay here for a bit longer, yeah?”

And they did, wrapped up in their coats and each other, as the city woke, streets staying quiet. They would make it through five more days, because in case they went mad for a bit, they had the other to rely on, to hold them and to keep them sane.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Stay safe and read fan ficction😊


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